It’s been a strange few weeks, not least because Dad is in hospital. On the farm, we’re all trying to carry on as normal.
Outside, too, has seemed peculiar: three oystercatchers on the cut grass of the Norfolk Showground event venue, their orange beaks flashing neon as they probed for earthworms. Unlike many waders, oystercatchers can nest in peculiar places such as rooftops or roundabouts, as extra protection for their young. Still, to find them here, hemmed in by a dual carriageway, is a surprise. Dad reminds me, from his hospital bed, that the River Yare is close.
Another day, another anomaly. I’m driving down the lane, a car full of teenage girls, when one of them notices some horses behaving oddly. We stop to investigate. I quickly wish we hadn’t.
The herd has gathered loosely around an adult roe deer on the ground. At first I think it’s dead, but then it tries to stand. It must have been injured on the road and staggered into their paddock. The black mare does not want it there, though. She bites at its neck, pinning it down and sending tufts of pale fur flying up.
As the deer writhes to escape, the mare pummels it with both front hooves. The other horses circle, tension rising. Every time they approach, the mare chases them off, ears back, teeth bared.
I reckon I can save it. I climb through the fence and begin to shout, swinging my arms around, trying to make myself big. But I cannot match her. She lunges at me, and she means it. I retreat. The brutal scene unfolds until – what palpable relief – the deer is dead.
It’s something I’ve never seen before. It was most likely territorial aggression – as prey animals, the horses flee at any sign of threat. It’s a reminder that these sweetest of animals, which we consider tamed, can still be wild and unknowable, providing a useful lesson to the horse-loving girls watching silently from behind the fence.
Back at the farm, a welcome burst of normality, as 15 swallows arrive in a cluster, right on schedule. Dad returns home too, quadruple heart bypass successful, to the delight of his terrier, Rat. He says he’s going to slow down, but farmers aren’t very good at retiring.
